


Experiments and Obligations

by Dragonsigma, farevenasdecidedtouse



Category: The Goblin Emperor - Katherine Addison
Genre: Blood, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 04:01:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6549877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonsigma/pseuds/Dragonsigma, https://archiveofourown.org/users/farevenasdecidedtouse/pseuds/farevenasdecidedtouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The account of an injury to the person of Cala Athmaza, and its consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Experiments and Obligations

Cala carefully twisted the last piece of wire into place, shook the whole thing briefly to be sure it held together, and leaned over to scribble a quick note on the paper by his knee. This last would have amused anybody who had known him as a young novice, for he had not been nearly so scrupulous then. It had taken years, multiple near-disasters, and several epiphanies lost for lack of records, but his teachers had finally drilled it into him to write everything down.

He made another few notes, muttering to himself as he did so. If all of this worked as predicted, it would be enough for a presentation to the Adremaza. Not that Cala would have the time to do so himself, but he wasn’t so proud that he couldn’t hand off his research to another and see what they could make of it.

He didn’t resent the loss of his time. Guarding the Emperor was a great honor, one he had not expected to obtain for years to come. And truly, Edrehasivar was an emperor he was proud to serve. He had come a long way from the overwhelmed young man Cala had first met. His extraordinary compassion, his mind that took in new concepts and ideas like a plant deprived of sunlight, his unprecedented consideration for the people around him, even those who were supposed to be beneath notice, all of this suggested the makings of a truly great ruler. Time and the outcomes of his endeavors would tell, but these early stages seemed nothing less than promising.

This evening, he had left the Emperor under Kiru and Telimezh’s capable eyes in the midst of an involved discussion with Mer Aisava about plans for the groundbreaking of the Wisdom Bridge. He and his partner in duty had returned to the positively domestic tableau that they now formed in their quarters. It had become something of a tradition: while Beshelar filed their reports, Cala tied back his sleeves and set to work on his latest project.  

Beshelar had once called it undignified: a dachenmaza sitting on the floor twiddling with wire and wood like a child with his toys. Cala’s response to that had been to remind him that some of the greatest discoveries had come from such undirected experimentation, and besides, he was keeping records, which made it work, not play.

He leaned back to examine the structure, compare it again against the diagram he had sketched the previous day: a round cage of wires on a ceramic base, in which was placed a small dish. Cala took a pouch from his supplies and shook a few clinking slivers of copper into the dish.

This was the highest moment in any experiment: the preparation finished, the unknown ahead. Certainly, he had predictions, but it could easily go in an unexpected direction. The exercise of one’s _will_ , the single element that separated magic from the natural sciences into something altogether its own creature no matter how carefully observed and meted out, carried a thrill that repetition could never dull.

The incantation was simple enough, the extension of mental force only slightly less so. With the preternatural ease of the well-practised, Cala stretched the ward around the cage, focusing the power inside, feeling the bits of copper vibrate and heat with the energy.

Distantly, he heard Beshelar push his chair away from his desk. He ignored the sound, and so wasn't expecting it when Beshelar demanded, “Cala, what absurd working-”

His concentration broke. The ward slipped from his control even as he fumbled to regain it; he had only time to feel the energy inside the sphere surge before his connection to it snapped. Cala flung his arms up to shield his face with a belated cry of surprise. For a moment he felt nothing, the mental equivalent of air having been knocked from his lungs as surely as from a hard fall. Then, following the line of Beshelar’s aghast stare he glanced down at his forearms and only then realized the source of a new and nagging sensation he finally registered as pain: several small marks, halfway between burns and bruises, speckling his forearms in a pattern like a spatter of hot wax or mud.

“Cala?” The silence shattered; Cala took a breath, glanced up, sparing a moment to be thankful that the shards hadn’t struck his face.

“I… you startled me. Forgive me,” Cala replied, even voice belying his shaken nerves and the thin, jagged threads of pain still jolting through his arm. He tugged his sleeves down over the odd marks - no use in worrying Beshelar further before he’d had a chance to properly examine the damage himself. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be that serious. Surely he’d done worse as a clumsy untaught novice.

“It is you who should forgive us! We obviously distracted you from… something.” Beshelar frowned at the remains of the experiment on the floor, then at Cala. “All the more reason to stop performing these ridiculous experiments in official quarters. What if you had been seriously hurt?”

“Where else, exactly, would we conduct them if not here?” Cala asked. Beshelar turned away with another muttered apology and Cala began to gather up shards of ceramic and copper from the carpet. He had just managed to get his focus back when something _sparked_ \- bits of metal, a distant part of him noted, driven into his skin when the ward failed, and carrying residual energy - and for several terrible long moments it was all he could do not to tear at his arms or curl in on himself with the pain. Finally, it passed, and his eyes flickered open on Beshelar’s worried face close to his.

“This is more serious than you are telling.”

“It is of no matter,” Cala said, but he was beginning to doubt the truth of that. The pain was not fading, and though he could easily treat simple cuts and burns, this was evidently something worse.

“You ought to consult Kiru, immediately. A maza and healer would have better insight as to what you have managed to do to yourself.”

“And interrupt the Emperor’s work?” Not only that, but if he sought out Kiru’s aid now, Edrehasivar would see everything, and he would worry for Cala’s sake. Better to do so once the Emperor had retired for the night, and Cala would be able to talk with Kiru in the outer room without disturbing him. He could wait.

“He would not appreciate this stubbornness.”

Cala shook his head. At another time, he would have commented on the hypocrisy of such a statement from Beshelar, but right now it felt more important to say, “It would distress His Serenity to see. When he is asleep, we will seek Kiru’s advice,” and turn his attention back to clearing the last broken scraps from the floor.

Beshelar looked doubtful, as if he wished to say something stern but suspected Cala would not listen.

“It will be no trouble to wait,” Cala insisted. As if to prove him a liar, the fragments of metal sparked again, worse this time. Somehow, he managed not to cry out, but the pain must have been evident on his face. When the greatest part of the sensation had passed, he stood and selected a book from his desk at random, hoping for some distraction, something to do. He could endure this, if it meant the Emperor’s peace of mind.

The book was pulled from his hands. He turned to take it back from Beshelar, and froze at the expression on his face.

It was a moment before Beshelar said, the informal lending his words as much weight as did his grave tone, "Wouldst rather go before His Serenity tomorrow and confess that thou wert injured and chose to suffer rather than seek aid? He will notice, Cala.” And then, more quietly, "He always does."

It was true, and Cala berated himself for not realizing it sooner. Yes, Edrehasivar would be upset to see him hurt, but he would only be more so to think that it had been prolonged unnecessarily.

Cala’s ears drooped, and he sighed. “He should not concern himself so."

“No word of ours has ever dissuaded him from that concern, unnecessary and improper though it may be." A moment of quiet, and then his attitude grew stern again and he stepped towards Cala. “Furthermore, waiting would be irresponsible. What if you were called to action in this state?” Another step, until Cala could not look away from Beshelar’s customary mild scowl sharpened by concern. “It would be a risk to the Emperor and to yourself, and a gross breach of your duty besides.”

The accusation stung. Cala drew back. “Enough. We do not need to be lectured like a child.” Concern from his partner was one thing, something that warmed him, in truth, but being scolded like an erring novice was quite another.

“Very well. Come, we will go to His Serenity, and you will explain to Kiru exactly what you were doing with that ridiculous device, for we are certain that we do not know the particulars of the mazeise arts.”

Cala decided not to argue further. Chin set, braced for the next shock of pain, he followed Beshelar out the door.

The walk to the Tortoise Room was tense and quiet, interrupted once by a volley of prickling currents that left him leaning against a wall supported by his unmarred arm. He waved Beshelar off with a few deep, shaking breaths and they passed the rest of the way in silence.

Mer Aisava stood when they entered, ears set back in alarm. The Emperor glanced wide-eyed in their direction, and Telimezh stepped forward, a hand on his weapon. “Beshelar! Cala Athmaza! What’s toward? Are we under attack?”

“There is no threat,” Beshelar reassured him, and turned to bow to the Emperor. “Serenity, we apologize for disturbing you. Cala has magically injured himself and requires Kiru Athmaza’s examination,” he said before Cala could spin any sort of more tactful phrasing out of the loose threads of his thoughts.  At the Emperor’s emphatic nod of approval, Kiru stepped forward from the opposite corner of the room.

“How serious?” the Emperor asked, his eyes on Cala full of concern.

“Please, Serenity, continue your work. There is no reason to worry,” Cala said, offering a gentle smile of the sort he knew would put the Emperor’s mind at ease. Mer Aisava, clearly conscious of the unusual nature of the situation, but determined to continue as normal, watched them a moment longer and then deliberately reached for another paper from the pile on his desk.

“The working began as a simple spell for thermal energy cast on several pieces of metal enclosed within a ward to contain and amplify the effect,” Cala explained, and stepped forward at Kiru’s gesture, baring his forearms under the frayed cuffs of his sleeves. “Our concentration lapsed and the spell surged out of our control, allowing the volatile force to break through the barrier-“

This time the pain swept through Cala like a storm of metal flechettes, gusting away coherence and basic dignity in its wake. For a moment his mind blanked entirely, forming an empty gulf composed of his own hurt, and then he was vaguely aware of Kiru directing him toward a chair, supporting near his entire weight with steady hands. Distantly, he noted Edrehasivar half-risen from his chair in distress, and made to wave a hand in reassurance in his direction. Another flood of barbed agony swept through his arm to the tips of his fingers and he surrendered to Kiru’s guidance. “We would speculate,” he managed once the worst of the wave had passed and he had breath enough to speak, “that the copper, imbued with energy, effected to transfer the workings of the spell to our own person.”

There was no rhythm or pattern to when the attacks came, no sense at all that Cala could discern, and that realization brought with it fear. Usually his understanding of magic, of people, could carry him steady through any circumstances, but knowledge could do nothing for the pain, could not predict nor lessen it. And it could not keep his fellows - or his Emperor - from worrying.

Edrehasivar had given up all pretense of attending to the papers, and for his part Mer Aisava had at some point paused in reading and was instead watching Kiru anxiously.

“We are entirely at fault!” Beshelar burst out, and had Cala the strength and mental capacity he might have laughed. “It was our interruption that distracted him from this… endeavor,” Beshelar continued, evidently oblivious of how excessively dramatic he sounded. “We beg forgiveness, from both of you, and will submit to an official reprimand if you feel it necessary.”

“It is hardly an appropriate time for self-recrimination, Lieutenant,” Kiru said dryly without looking up, before the Emperor said, “We are more than willing to postpone any judgement against your own person until this matter is resolved. Please, Kiru, continue.”

Cala sat forward, sleeves rolled up to his elbows as Kiru inspected the pale marks, expression the picture of the disinterested, proficient healer. “To begin to redress this guilt you may stay with your colleague while we retrieve our equipment,” she informed Beshelar with a twist of her mouth. Guilt and unease still evident on his face, Beshelar stepped forward to take her place, and it said something about the situation that he offered no comment on the impropriety of taking a maza’s position for however brief a time.

Moments later Kiru hurried back in with a small satchel from which she procured a number of small instruments applied in succession to Cala’s chest, neck, and arms. The room was silent, giving him little to focus on other than the anticipation of a new bout of pain, the tension only made worse by the distress writ large across the Emperor’s face as he watched, a stack of closely-written financial ledgers clutched in his hands for want of anything else to occupy them. Another moment of focus on those hands and Cala belatedly realized that his own extremities had begun to spark with the first signs of the pain’s return. Kiru’s eyes widened fractionally and then she moved her hands and Cala felt the beginnings of a spell in the air.  

The pain flickered once, sharp, and was gone, and in its absence Cala was finally able to discern the more mundane pain where the fragments had cut through his skin to bury themselves in his body. With a shuddering breath Kiru shook her hands as if flicking off droplets of water. The air around her warped briefly as if from the heat of a fire or some sort of near-transparent fog. “It was well that you came to us when you did,” she said with a few more of the same motions, wincing each time, though the visible effect was fading more with each repetition. Disapproval lingered heavy in her every word. “We hope you will excuse our brusque bedside manner when we state that if you had attempted one of the major spells in this condition it may well have killed you.”

“Yet another reason why proposing to delay seeking aid was irresponsible and foolish,” Beshelar said, and Cala could picture his unhappy scowl even before he turned to look. The set of his ears suggested he was masking a deeper distress than he let show.

“Delay? Cala…” The Emperor’s ears were flat and his eyes alarmed. And Cala cursed himself for ever having thought he could hide this from him.

“We only wished to wait until you were asleep so that we would not alarm you unduly, Serenity,” Cala said, wincing at the plaintive note he heard in his own words. The hollowness of his reasoning was apparent and the Emperor knew it full well.

“Even leaving aside the protocol that the First Nohecharei be sound of body at all times,” Edrehasivar said, making as if to rise from his chair before simply drawing himself up in the imperial manner he had begun to affect with some authority, “the thought that our alarm could take precedence over your own well-being is surely as ludicrous to you as it is to us.” Cala felt his ears dip in acknowledgement of the reprimand, saying more than words possibly could. “Kiru, is there more you must do?” the Emperor continued.

“With the thaumaturgical residue stabilized,” Kiru replied, sitting back on her heels to rummage once more through her bag, “it remains to physically remove the components. As we cannot leave you, Serenity, we would recommend that you direct your attention elsewhere. The process will involve a certain amount of blood as we must re-open the flesh cauterized shut by the penetration of the fragments.” She turned back toward Cala, a small scalpel in hand and the hint of a rueful smile on her face. “Judging by the depth and the thoroughness of the dispersion we can only commend you on the efficacy of your initial enchantment.”

The next half-hour was a sharply memorable tableau of blades, tweezers and the seep of blood quickly staunched with bandages and tied off by the still-shamefaced Beshelar assigned ancillary tasks by Kiru, presumably to mitigate his concerned, self-recriminating hovering. Kiru's magic could dull the pain somewhat, but nowhere near enough to make the process anything less than agonizing. One violent spasm of his arm that Cala could not suppress brought the blade close enough to an artery for a sharp intake of breath from Kiru before she managed to correct the angle and a few moments later drop another warped metal shard into the blood-spattered bowl at her side.

By the time Kiru pronounced her work finished, he was exhausted and in enough pain to allow Beshelar to half-lift him from the chair, an arm slung about his waist for support. Ghosts of the previous jolting shocks of pain (a residual imprint upon the affected nerves, Kiru told him, which would fade in the absence of the initial catalysts) sparked periodically outward from the wounds, and with each surge Cala fought back any noise, unsure what he might vocalize, from a whimper to a scream. He focused only on walking, and it was some time before he realized why he could still hear Kiru’s steady voice accompanying their progress. With a glance around he saw the Emperor striding alongside them toward the nohecharei quarters, Mer Aisava trailing behind him. “Cala…” Edrehasivar began, and Cala could not help but wonder through the pain at his name on the Emperor’s lips, in daily duty a source of quiet pride, and in reprimand deeply chiding.

The Emperor turned to Kiru. “Is there nothing you can do?” he asked.

She shook her head. “We will give him a sedative draught for the night and some salve for the incisions, but the thaumaturgical residue must disperse on its own.” From her bag she produced a phial of what Cala imagined to be the former, and with a twinge from the multiple cuts across his arms, he raised it to his lips. The last thing he remembered seeing with any clarity, past Kiru’s shoulder as she stood in quiet discussion with Beshelar about potential rearrangement of shifts, was the Emperor’s expression, concern writ large across fine Drazhadeise features.

***

Cala could still see that shadow of concern in the Emperor’s eyes when Edrehasivar acknowledged the shift change the next day. The lingering guilt he felt for having been the cause of that anxiety was wholly useless and would not help either of them, and he tried to push it aside as he faithfully stood watch through the numerous audiences and meetings that filled the afternoon. Through it all, each time he glanced toward the Emperor to see the flicker of a quickly-redirected glance of concern left him overcome with the ridiculous urge to avoid all danger if only so that he would never have to see that worry again.

His arm ached and stung through it all, more remnants of the surgery of than the original spell, and as much as he tried to keep his ears up and his face blank, some of the pain must have shown through. The Emperor was not the only one to cast anxious looks at him throughout the day, but Beshelar’s were colored with guilt and altogether unhelpful. By evening, he was tired, not the awful exhaustion of the previous night, but a dull weariness that settled over him like a layer of dust.

Their custom was for Cala to take first watch in the inner chamber, but tonight when the Emperor emerged from his bath he cast a searching look at Cala, and something of that Drazhadeise stubbornness came into his features. He nodded to Beshelar, who stepped forward without a word, and it was decided. Truthfully, Cala was grateful for it, for the chance to sit and eat out of sight of his fretting lord and anxious partner. The kitchens had prepared for the evening meal a rich soup and roasted fowl in the Barizheise style, and the portions left for the servants tasted no less fine than the rest had looked on the Emperor’s table. The simple act of eating, though brief and hurried a sensual enjoyment as his evening meals tended to be, even allowed him to forget for a moment the searching, anxious grey eyes that had lingered in his mind since the previous evening.

When the time came for him to take up his post in the Emperor’s chamber he had revived somewhat, and he nodded Beshelar toward the doorway limned faintly in gaslight without betraying the twinge through his arms at the motion. As he stepped away, Beshelar paused for a moment in the doorway. “We have not forgotten,” he said in a voice hopefully too quiet to disturb the Emperor, “that it was our action that led to your injury.”

“We only wish,” Cala replied, fighting the urge to bury his face in his hands in exasperation, “that you might understand yourself forgiven, as has been the case since the incident itself. Go, eat, and think no more of it. For His Serenity’s sake, if no one else’s.” Whatever argument Beshelar had obviously been constructing seemed to disperse at this last command and he nodded curtly, stepping through the door to leave Cala alone with the Emperor.

Cala’s usual position near the window, affording him a view of the sharply slanted roof through which only the most dedicated and talented of assassins might enter, placed him near enough to the head of the bed to mark His Serenity’s every shift and turn beneath the bedsheets. Countless restless movements later, Edrehasivar seemed to accumulate sufficient courage to sit up in bed and murmur through the darkness, “Will you assure us such a thing will not happen again?”

“I am truly sorry.” Silhouetted against the distant lights of Cetho through the window, Cala bowed his head. “It was foolish-”

“No,” the Emperor interrupted. “That is is not at all what I meant. I understand that I cannot always keep you safe, that protection is your duty and not mine, but...” He seemed to search for confidence somewhere within himself, something Cala had not seen him need to do in a long while, “I can ask that you promise me you will do all that does not conflict with your oath to safeguard your own welfare.”

Cala was silent for a moment. He so wanted to agree, to set the Emperor’s mind at ease, but to do so unconditionally would be dishonest. To truly preserve himself would mean giving up the study of magic, a loss he could hardly contemplate. He thought briefly of arguing that Edrehasivar would not think of forbidding Beshelar his exercises, but that would be unkind. Better to ask plainly.

“It is a maza’s duty to seek out new knowledge,” he began, carefully, “even if there is risk in the pursuit. My oath to you supercedes all else, yet I remain a maza as much as a nohecharis. I will take all necessary precautions, I will do my best to seek out a suitable space for such studies in the interest of preventing similar future occurrences, but... I ask that you not forbid me from it outright.”

In the darkness, Cala saw the Emperor draw himself up against the headboard, blankets pressed to his chest. “I understand, and will aid you in taking these precautions in any way I may. Only promise me that you will remember my personal regard for you in addition to your own duties.”

“I will,” Cala promised, and tried not to wonder if the Emperor intended his words to sound as intimate as they did. Edrehasivar preferred to use the informal in private, but somehow this felt like something beyond even that.

In the ensuing silence, the Emperor remained seated, face turned toward Cala’s in the darkness. In the time he had spent in the office of nohecharis, charged to observe the every move and mood of his liege, he had come to recognize every gradation of the confidence Edrehasivar had managed to cultivate through the hostile atmosphere of the court and his own fears. Now, in the dimly lit Imperial chambers, much of that confidence seemed to drop away, until Cala was reminded of the uncertain boy who had come to Cetho so long before, that boy who wanted to do right but could not yet see a path ahead of him.

“Will you… stay with me?” the Emperor - Maia - asked, hesitant and uncertain, and Cala knew at once that it was not an order but an offer, made in the spirit of affection, not command.

“In whatever capacity you wish, Serenity.” It was the only possible response - heart and duty both demanded it.

“Sit with me?”

Cala started for a straight-backed chair in the corner of the room, but a rustle of movement - Maia, moving himself toward the center of the bed - clarified the nature of the request beyond doubt. He settled himself on the edge of the mattress, back to the headboard to allow himself a continued view of the room, and in short order felt Maia pull close. Ignoring the stabs of pain that still plagued him with every sudden movement of his arm, he drew his Emperor close against his side, allowing the curly black head to rest against the space beneath his sharp collarbone. For a moment Cala wondered, but the intimacy of their current contact seemed sufficient for the time being.

“I hope,” Maia murmured, a few errant curls brushing the underside of Cala’s chin, “that our own variety of friendship will allow thee to forgive my sentimentality.” Some sudden movement of Cala’s at the familiarity - surprising, if not unwelcome - caused Maia to start upright. “Forgive me, I did not mean to hurt thee.”

“No, thou hast not.” Cala drew his Emperor toward him once again, carefully avoiding contact with the still-smarting incisions as he allowed Maia’s head to rest against his breast once more. “As to any sentimentality thou mayest display, it is I who am charged with the well-being of thy mind and spirit. To hold such sentiments against thee would be remiss indeed.”

With a sigh that Cala more felt than heard, Maia stretched further against him, one thigh pressing against Cala’s as Maia endeavored to recline against Cala’s bony chest as if it had been the neglected stack of pillows at the other side of the bed. To better accommodate the new position Cala reached for several of these, positioning them behind his back to allow them both to rest comfortably.

“I would have more of thee someday, if thou wishest,” Maia murmured sleepily.  

With steadier hands and a lighter heart than he had commanded since the previous day, Cala brushed a stray lock of hair from his Emperor’s cheek. “Serenity, thou art welcome to my all.”

**Author's Note:**

> Join the tiny fandom discussion and RP at http://www.slashnet.org/webclient/thegoblinemperor


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